


Red Earth

by bluebells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Dubious Consent, Forests, M/M, Midam Week 2013, Post-Cage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Cage. A moment between Michael and Adam as they meet in a forest, and there are some things Michael isn't telling him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Earth

**Author's Note:**

> All my bones shall say,  
> “O Lord, who is like you,  
> delivering the poor  
> from him who is too strong for him,  
> the poor and needy from him who robs him?”  
> \-- Psalm 35:10

Michael's hands are warm on Adam's neck, sliding wet up the tendon of his jaw. 

Adam understands before he has to open his eyes and follows the five-pointed print. His head inclines in their practiced call and response. He steps into his angel, twigs cracking beneath his shoes. Michael cups his face, the sharp tang of blood scouring through the pine, rain and deep, dark earth in Adam's senses.

Where has Michael been tonight?

Adam hangs his hands at his sides to resist learning if the person Michael wears today has a heartbeat. A strong arm folds around his waist, hips slot against his, a leg sliding between his own. A slow sigh trembles from the angel and Michael sways with him: a slow, sliding step in the low light of the waking forest.

Michael's fingers are hot on Adam's mouth, his thumb smearing red on the cup of his lower lip. Adam gasps the rush of the exhale as Michael breathes into him. It inspires the same thrill as it did the first time, before Adam reached out in the dark, felt soil between his fingers and didn't ask why. Before he blinked disbelieving eyes at the unfamiliar spectre of the sun and drew Michael's outstretched hands against him to affirm warmth and pulse. 

Living, alive. We're alive. 

A branch is digging into his hipbone and Michael leans harder against Adam's hands in the Earth when Adam lifts, shifting underneath him. Adam's thighs fall apart and leaves crunch in his ear, twigs falling from his skin when he grips the angel closer. Adam slackens under the narrow of grey eyes and wonders about the black smear on Michael's cheekbone. It isn't easy pretending not to see, but Michael buries himself in Adam's neck before Adam can ask, mouth harsh on the red handprints on Adam's skin. Hands lift his hips, one of his legs curls around Michael's waist, and the angel burns into him like a slow lick of fire. 

Michael has a heartbeat.

Afterwards, Michael is idly sifting the debris from Adam's hair, lying beside him in the brambles. Adam reaches up to touch the dark slash of black on Michael's face. It comes away like a soft powder beneath his fingertips.

"Do I want to know?" Adam asks quietly.

Michael stops, looking into his face. He touches the mark carefully and it fades under the rub of his fingers. Ash or soil, Adam guesses. Soil, he hopes. 

The sun is in the trees. Adam watches a small flock of sparrows dart before the first clouds overhead.

Michael's hands are sticky, dried and dark in the rising day, the rest of him pale and flushed. He looks like he's just dragged himself from the Pit. 

No, Adam decides, weaving fingers through the grime of Michael's grip. He doesn't care to know.

**Author's Note:**

> // original image by Guillermo Carballa (http://500px.com/Carballa)


End file.
